


Under My Skin

by isaacedlahey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chaos Ensues, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Party, Underage Drinking, allison is the coolest, cora and lydia are clueless and beautiful and terrifying, danny throws the best parties, how do you tag, that's it that's the fic, warning: stiles is kind of a douche in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacedlahey/pseuds/isaacedlahey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"The moon is rising outside, but for just a moment, Cora forgets about Derek, Peter, even the charade they have to perform the next day, the charade that’s probably going to break her heart. All that exists in this instant is Lydia’s smile and the way she says Cora’s name – like it’s an especially sinful kind of prayer."</i>
</p><p>Cora and Lydia have never liked each other, never sought each other out. Which is why Cora's impossibly confused when the banshee herself asks for a favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tonystarksicle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarksicle/gifts).



> I wrote this work as a present for my amazing girlfriend, Maeve, and because I think that the lack of Cordia fic in the world is kind of ridiculous. (Also because fake-dating is my favorite trope in the universe and I don't think anyone can ever go wrong with it.) I should probably just explain the timeline really quickly - I kind of am picturing it happening as an AU around the time of 3B, if Cora had stayed [loud sobbing].

Cora Hale is many things, but a pushover is not one of them. 

She remembers when she was younger, maybe seven years old, Derek and his idiot friends had smashed a basketball through the largest window in the house. Even back then, the Hales weren’t in the best financial situation, and small as she was, Cora had known how much money it would cost to repair the damage. So did Derek. He’d asked her, with the charming smile he still carries in his pocket today, to tell Talia ( _you can think her name, Cora, it’s just a name, it was another life, don’t be an idiot_ ) that it’d been her fault. 

Cora had gritted her teeth and vehemently refused, because she may have worshipped Derek like a twisted deity, but she’d grown up with wolves. The word “no” frequently danced upon her tongue. Derek had scowled a bit, but even though he was worse back then, he was better in many ways, too. He’d ’fessed up to Talia, and that had been the end of Cora’s part in the fiasco. 

(The window hadn’t gotten repaired for years. They’d just taped it up, pretended it wasn’t broken – the Hales were good at that. Still are, as a matter of fact.)

So yeah, Cora knows how to refuse people. She’s never felt guilty for it, and she’s sure as hell never agreed to anything that she hadn’t been 100% sure about.

Which is why the situation she was roped into…well, it’s more significant than she’d care to admit.

***

TWO DAYS AGO

Cora smells her coming before she sees her. That’s not a wolf super-sensory thing, either – Lydia reeks of Chanel No. 9, Gucci moisturizer, Bumble & Bumble hairspray and god knows what else. It frightens Cora a _lot_ when she realizes that she knows these products, has memorized their names, but then again, she gets stuck with the banshee quite a bit. Her nostrils are well acquainted with the stench of red-headed queen bees.

“Morning, princess,” Cora mumbles in a monotone as Lydia plops her bag (“ _Prada_ bag,” Lydia always announces, as though it matters) down on the library table that Cora had been lounging at. Cora slides her leather notebook and pencil underneath her backpack as Lydia daintily settles onto the chair opposite her, high heels shuffling on the carpet.

If anyone asks what she was doing, Cora will tell them she was playing on her phone or something equally useless. They don’t need to know she was sketching. No one’s ever seen her work, and frankly, she isn’t sure she wants them to. People expect her to be a certain way – Cora supposes Lydia can understand that, if nothing else. 

“What’s up?” Cora finally sighs, when it becomes apparent that Lydia isn’t exactly bursting to say anything. They haven’t spoken much as of late – any immediate threats to Scott’s pack have been neutralized, and as far as Cora knows, that’s the only reason the queen would deign to visit a not-so-adoring subject. 

Lydia hums a little under her breath and remains silent – and considering Lydia, that’s strange. Alarming, even. When Cora’s eyebrows have raised so high that they’re almost at her hairline, the redhead finally opens her too-glossy lips and blurts out, “I may have told Stiles we’re dating. It’s not a big deal so don’t give me any bull – I can fix it, but we – ”

“ _Excuse_ me? Back up. Back way, way up,” Cora hisses, because although screaming seems appealing right now, this _is_ a library, and she wouldn’t want to be around Lydia if she decided to scream back. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Lydia repeats, lips pursed, posture defensive. “He was being a total asshole, telling me I’m too judgmental, too picky, and that’s why I haven’t had a date in a while.”

“Bullshit,” Cora murmurs. Confused anger may be zipping through her veins, but god knows Stiles _can_ be an idiot, and it’s definitely common knowledge that Lydia could have anyone she wants. 

Not that Cora’s thought about it or anything. Just…objectively.

Lydia looks surprised, and her dimples flash. “Thanks. Anyways, the thing is…” Suddenly, she frowns, and narrows her eyes as she looks Cora up and down, taking in her messy hair and the bags under her eyes. The other girl fidgets uncomfortably at the scrutiny and the realization that her being at Beacon Hills High two hours before school starts is definitely out of character. She twists back slightly in her chair as Lydia leans closer.

“I came here early to wait for you,” Lydia says slowly, eyeing Cora’s unusually large backpack. “And you were already here. You’re never here early. You’re barely ever here at all.”

Cora tries to muster up an outraged face, but she knows it’s too late. Lydia’s eyes widen as she whispers (if one could call her half-hiss, half-yell a whisper), “Are you _sleeping_ here?”

Cora makes wild windmill motions with her arms as she tells Lydia to _please shut up, there_ are _other people in this library_ , but the banshee’s mouth is agape and her eyebrows are twisted together and she’s looking at Cora with an expression of – Christ, this is so much worse than mild distaste, she looks almost _pitying_. 

“Please can you just leave me the fuck alone about this, it’s _temporary_ ,” Cora says, as quietly as she possibly can. “Derek’s just…I just can’t deal with him right now, okay? Not when Peter’s around. He’s worse with him, even though he likes to pretend things have changed. I’m…” Cora shuts her eyes, briefly, and for a moment she can almost feel Talia’s breath beside her, hear the gentle whisper of the trees in the forest. “I grew up with them. I know how it goes, how they are together, and I don’t want to clean up their messes. Not anymore.” 

When she opens her eyes again, Lydia’s face is, once again, a stone mask, and she can’t help but be relieved.

“I won’t tell anyone,” the other girl says, voice sounding harsh and cracked. Cora believes her. Lydia knows Peter, after all. Cora isn’t sure how, exactly, and when she’d tried to ask Scott about it, his eyes had darkened, almost to a frightening degree. He’d said, politely but firmly, that it wasn’t his story to tell, and Cora hadn’t pressed further. But she has a few guesses, and all of them make her feel vaguely sick. She can trust Lydia, maybe most out of anyone. Lydia gets it.

The world feels somewhat more manageable now, and there is a calm that fills her stomach at the understanding that’s developed between them. But suddenly, she remembers why Lydia had shown up in the first place, and she scowls across the table.

“So what’s this about us dating?”

Lydia blinks, the haze seeming to fade from her eyes. “Oh. Right. Again, not a big deal. Not a major issue, not my fault – okay, not _entirely_. I needed to get Stiles off my back, I needed to prove him wrong, and I needed to see his eyes bulge out because trust me, it’s _really_ funny.”

The Hale girl simply stares at her, because like _fuck_ that’s an explanation. Lydia begins to hum under her breath again, and the frustrated noise Cora makes is definitely more wolf than human.

“Why _me_ , though?” she asks, voice cutting through the relative quiet like glass. 

Lydia looks mildly uncomfortable, to Cora’s surprise. “Uh…”

The realization hits Cora like a pile of bricks. _Because everyone knows she hates you most of all._ “Oh. No, um. Never mind.” Lydia looks like she’s about to say something, and Cora scoots her chair back further. “Seriously, never mind.”

“I. Right. So.” The redhead bites her lip for several minutes, appearing to be steeling herself for battle. “I just need a tiny favor.”

Apprehension fills Cora’s mind, and if there’s another feeling working its way closer to her heart – well, she’d never admit that. Not to anyone.

“For fuck’s sake. Okay, yeah, what is it?”

“It has three parts. One: will you be my fake date to Danny’s birthday party on Saturday? Two: will you pretend to have been dating me for exactly three weeks and two days? Three, and this one’s a bit of an addendum: will you _please_ stay over at my house tonight, because honey, you’re an absolute mess and I don’t think Peter is going anywhere.” She murmurs something under her breath after she finishes her speech, eyes flashing. Cora can hear it, and it sends chills down her spine: _“Not yet.”_

“Uh.” Cora can’t think – there’s too much running through her head. Chanel No. 9 is all she can smell, the table’s oak-smelling wood is all she can feel, and the feel of cherries is all she can taste on her tongue. God knows why. 

She can’t say yes. She definitely, definitely can’t say yes. Why the fuck would she say yes?

“Okay,” she hears herself saying. Maybe some outside force is controlling her vocal cords. “Fine, whatever, I’ll do it.” 

Lydia looks surprised, and almost – almost pleased? No, that’s impossible. Definitely not. “Excellent.” She begins to stand up, and her elbow knocks her bag down. Cora leans to the side of the table to pick it up along with its spilled contents, and she finds her fingers clasped around a tube of…cherry lip gloss.

_Fuck._

“Thanks,” Lydia says as she plucks the makeup from Cora’s hand. They both straighten up, and Lydia rises from her chair with _way_ too much poise for someone who’s just turned Cora’s world upside down. “Well, you know where I live, so come by at seven tonight. Bring all your stuff, and some notecards. You’re going to help me study for calculus.” 

With that, she turns and flounces away, hyper-curled hair swaying slightly. Cora is left blinking in her wake and reaching for her sketchbook. Her hands shake slightly as she moves her pencil frantically across the page, trying to capture the way glossy lips look under fluorescent lights.

What the _fuck_?

***

Lydia’s house is enormous. That’s really all Cora could think two hours ago when she stepped into the foyer for the first time – they actually have a _foyer_. It’s a good thing, though – the resentment Cora feels towards Lydia is a welcome distraction from the way her heart had begun to pound when the stupid Martin girl opened the door.

Because seriously, Cora can’t deal with this. Cora _won’t_ deal with this. This is just her brain’s way of reacting to stress and anger and everything else she deals with on a daily basis. This is just her heart latching onto the nearest available vessel. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. 

“Cora? _Cora_?” Lydia’s saying now, snapping her fingers in front of the other girl’s face as they sit on Lydia’s bed – Cora cross-legged at the corner of the mattress, Lydia stretched out on the right hand side of the comforter. Cora pushes her hand away with a scowl, blatantly ignoring the twinge of electricity that pulses between their skin. She’s sure Lydia didn’t feel it, so what does it matter? Lydia hates her. She’s supposed to hate Lydia. Why can’t she manage that? 

“You’re supposed to be helping me,” Lydia says sharply, enunciating each syllable like Cora’s some kind of imbecile. Vexation fuels the eye roll she gives, and Lydia huffs.

“Just highlight the formulas, sweetheart. I think you can manage it.”

Cora stares down at the jumble of numbers on the paper in front of her, pressing the bright green highlighter down on the paper with more force than entirely necessary. Lydia begins to hum again, and seriously, why does she do that, it’s the _most_ annoying thing. 

“No more annoying than your glaringly obvious refusal to shower,” Lydia retorts, and Cora realizes too late that she’d spoken aloud. 

“Forgive me if I don’t want to smell like your pink body scrub.”

“Pink doesn’t have a smell.”

“Oh, believe me, it does.”

Lydia lets out a snort at this and shakes her head, laughing mouth disappearing behind the packet she begins to read. Cora tries to iron out the smile that twists her lips.

_Get a hold of yourself, Hale._

After about twenty minutes of silence, Lydia studying, Cora highlighting, the banshee sighs and jumps off the bed, lifting her arms up and stretching slightly. Cora’s definitely not looking at the way her shirt lifts up and at the glimpse of pale abdomen that’s revealed. 

“So.” Lydia scrambles back onto the bed, jolting Cora from her stupor as she shoves aside the papers she’d been so invested in only moments before. “We should probably talk about this.” 

Cora freezes. Lydia knows, somehow she _knows_ – is mind-reading a banshee thing now? “Um, about what?”

Lydia looks as though she’s not sure whether or not Cora is being serious. “The whole falsified dating scenario?”

 _Oh._ Cora’s heartbeat returns to a normal rhythm. “Right. Yeah.”

Lydia looks at her for several tense moments, almost appearing to be searching for something in her expression. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she says finally. “And you can call it off at any time – I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. It’s my fault that we’re in this situation to begin with.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to prove Stiles wrong as much as you do. He needs a good reality check,” Cora says, which isn’t entirely true. She and Stiles are friends, or at least friendly, and none of this could be considered reality by any stretch of the imagination. But it’s not like any of that really matters now. 

If she despised Lydia as much as she’d always told herself she did, she wouldn’t be so screwed right now. Not for the first time, she envies Derek for the way he’s able to keep his emotions utterly in check. She hates that about him most of the time – but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to be the same way. 

“Good,” Lydia says, her voice softer than usual. “We can stage a big break-up afterwards – you can do the dumping, don’t worry. And as for the party tomorrow, pretty much all you have to remember is the amount of time we’ve been dating – ”

“Three weeks and two days,” Cora supplies before she can stop herself. Lydia sighs mockingly.

“Yes, thank you,” she huffs. Cora mutters under her breath (but not so quietly Lydia wouldn’t be able to hear it), “Who’s the genius now?”. This earns her another smirk from the Einstein in question. 

“As I was _saying_. Just the amount of time we’ve been dating, and…” It may be Cora’s imagination, but Lydia’s face appears to grow several shades darker, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “And maybe how it happened in the first place.” 

Cora’s whole body is stiff, tense with holding herself together. “We could say that we were arguing one day, and – ”

“And I decided you weren’t really so bad after all, and that I actually liked you quite a lot.”

“Right. So you sort of snapped and kissed me, and you weren’t all that surprised when I kissed you back because you’re _you_. You _were_ surprised, though, when you asked me out and I said yes.”

Lydia has a funny look on her face now. “And our first date was an odious mess. We were both thinking there was no way it was going to work, but then you said _fuck it_ and kissed me and I didn’t stop you. And I asked you out again the next day, and you said yes.”

Cora’s whole body feels like it’s been lit on fire, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Lydia looks utterly calm, though, one eyebrow raised slightly, so Cora makes an attempt to control her breathing. The room is oddly still, and neither of them are making a sound. 

There’s a moment, just a single moment, when Cora thinks Lydia will kiss her. The air is vibrating with possibilities that she hadn’t let herself hope for before. Oxygen is an afterthought because she doesn’t even care anymore, she just wants to breathe in Chanel No. 9 and let it fill her pores.

She’s so completely _fucked_. 

Lydia leans a little closer, and Cora’s heart thuds erratically. The world is spinning and the bed is moving and a dog is jumping between them and – 

Oh. 

“ _Prada!_ ” Lydia exclaims, not sounding at all as wrecked as Cora feels. Maybe she’s misinterpreted the whole situation. Maybe fake dating is the worst idea she’s ever allowed herself to indulge in. Maybe she should just leave right now and never look back. 

That’s what Hales do. That’s what they’re good at. 

But Lydia looks at her, hazel eyes sparkling, using Prada’s paw to wave slightly. “Isn’t she cute?”

Cora knows she’s not going anywhere.

“Yeah, just _adorable_.”

“Take your sarcasm somewhere else. This is a no-grouch zone.”

Cora snickers. “We can’t all have your sunny disposition.” 

Lydia reaches over to whack Cora on the arm, but the Hale girl is still laughing, and even Lydia grins.

The moon is rising outside, but for just a moment, Cora forgets about Derek, Peter, even the charade they have to perform the next day, the charade that’s probably going to break her heart. All that exists in this instant is Lydia’s smile and the way she says Cora’s name – like it’s an especially sinful kind of prayer.

***

The following day is more or less a disaster. Getting ready for the party is a whole new brand of nightmare, nothing like the bone-shattering ones Cora’s used to. She’d almost prefer waking up in tears to Lydia practically stabbing her with a mascara wand.

“You look hot,” Lydia archly proclaims once the three-hour-long horror is over, spinning Cora slightly in her vanity stool. Cora rolls her eyes and pretends that her stomach doesn’t dip at the words. Chuckling slightly, Lydia points at the mirror in front of them.

“Just look at you,” she says, and Cora can’t help but smirk at the pride coating her words. So she looks. And not that she’d ever admit Lydia is right about _anything_ , but she does look different. Not quite hot, not like Lydia and Allison and – god – nothing like Erica had always been. But different. Definitely different.

Her eyes are rimmed with black kohl, hair curled and mussed (Lydia calls it ‘messy-chic’), lips dark red (the color of blood, but Cora’s not going to think about that). The queen bee has also stuffed her into some lacy bandeau monstrosity and slapped some ridiculously tight leather pants on her. 

“Leather runs in your family,” she’d said, and, well. Cora can’t exactly argue with that one.

And Lydia – Lydia looks incredible. Cora’s been sneaking covert glances at her all night, and as Lydia carefully sweeps eyeshadow on now, Cora watches in the mirror. She’s definitely _not_ looking at her lips or the way her mouth falls open when mascara is applied. She can’t promise, however, that her gaze doesn’t fall on the redhead’s tiny fingers as they clutch various tubes of makeup. And if she’s secretly grateful that Lydia owns such short miniskirts – well, what of it? Cora’s a werewolf. She can’t pretend to be blind as well as human. 

Lydia meets her gaze in the mirror, and Cora jumps slightly. Neither girl looks away, and Cora finds herself leaning forward, not towards Lydia, but towards their reflections. All she wants to do is capture – with paint, charcoal, _anything_ – the way Lydia’s looking at her in this moment, like she’s some sort of mystery that even a genius can’t figure out.

“Time to go,” the banshee says abruptly. “It’s getting dark. Danny’s parties always start the minute the sun goes down.”

Cora nods, because it’s not like she knows the ins and outs of the Beacon Hills social world. She follows Lydia downstairs and out the door (through the stupid foyer), only stumbling once in her heels. As they reach Lydia’s car (Cora’s feet are _killing_ her, _why_ did she agree to wear these shoes), the bright-haired girl stops and turns to her. 

“I didn’t ask – have you ever actually been to one of Danny’s parties?”

Cora snorts. “I’ve been a little too busy trying to stay alive.”

“Yeah, we all have. I’ve been right there with you guys, remember?” Lydia’s eyebrows are furrowed and Cora immediately feels guilty, but the other girl plows on. “Anyway, the reason I’m asking is that Danny’s parties…they’re different. I’m just warning you. Things can get wild.”

“I like wild,” Cora says stubbornly as she climbs into the passenger’s seat of the car. As Lydia jams the key into the ignition and the monster roars to life, Cora swears she can hear her mutter, “I know”.

They sit in silence for most of the drive, but Cora’s stupid half-smile stays plastered on her face the whole time. She can’t quite seem to be rid of it, not when Lydia’s around. 

Once they reach Danny’s mansion – and there’s no other way of putting it, it’s a mansion; seriously, where do people in Beacon Hills make their fortunes – Lydia parks next to a fleet of cars already lining up along the street. His mansion – _house_ , Lydia insists when Cora shares her observations with her – is entirely alight, stone pillars on the porch looking inhumanly white, and Cora can see strobe lights blazing from the inside. How the cops haven’t broken the party up yet, Cora will never know.

The two girls follow a crowd of teenagers rushing for the door, Lydia wrinkling her nose at the boys who shout their appreciation for her outfit. Cora’s fists clench when she hears their comment, but she figures Danny wouldn’t appreciate a bunch of dead bodies on his front lawn. Unfortunately.

When they get inside (his foyer is bigger than even Lydia’s, for fuck’s sake), Lydia pushes Cora against the enormous stairway, drawing the attention of the crowd huddled near it, and the redhead puts on her most wicked smile.

“Are you ready?” she asks, dimples caving in as she leans forward on the tips of her heels.

Cora blinks, feeling slightly dazed. “Ready for what?”

Lydia’s grin just widens. Before Cora really knows what’s happening, Lydia’s kissing her, soft at first. There is a question in her lips, and Cora knows that she’s giving her an out, should she want it.

Like _fuck_ she does.

Cora leans into Lydia as best she can, having to bend down slightly as she snakes her arms around the other girl’s waist. Her nails dig into Lydia’s tiny skirt, tensing to the beat of the blaring music, and Cora can hear the small sound Lydia makes as a response. The redhead’s hands move up and down Cora’s bare sides, fingertips sneaking up along the hem of her shirt. Their lips are sliding slightly because of all the gloss Lydia’s wearing, but Cora doesn’t care about that. She doesn’t care about anything except the space they occupy, the contours of their bodies aligned together. Lydia’s tongue darts out to wet Cora’s lips, and Cora inhales sharply. The other girl pulls away, smirking, hands still on Cora’s sides.

“You’re definitely a good actress,” she whispers quietly, so quietly that only Cora’s werewolf senses pick it up. The high that she’d been riding for the duration of the kiss deflates as she remembers. This isn’t real. It’s all for show. She can’t allow herself to get attached. 

“Cora! Lydia!”

They both turn to see Danny grinning as he saunters towards them, beer in hand. He looks halfway to drunk already, and Cora can’t help but smile, because at least _someone_ is going to be able to enjoy themselves tonight. She envies all the humans their alcohol. She’ll never be able to use it to forget. And there’s so much she wishes she didn’t have to remember. 

“You two,” he gestures between them. “I saw that.” He begins to laugh slightly, good-naturedly. “I always had a feeling it would happen eventually.”

Cora turns to Lydia automatically, and she’s shocked by the sincere emotion she sees in the other girl’s eyes. 

“Yeah,” Lydia says, grin looking slightly less self-assured now. “It was definitely inevitable.” 

“You can say that again,” he chuckles. “I’m glad you guys came. For once, the absurd amount of animal attacks in this town is a good thing – the cops will be nowhere near here tonight.” Cora and Lydia both stiffen, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Danny’s eyes pass behind them at the crowd approaching at the door, and his smile widens when he sees Allison, Scott, Stiles, and Isaac being swept through by the other incoming guests. He raises a hand in greeting (Scott’s returning grin is completely fucking blinding, Cora can’t even deal with him sometimes) before tapping the guy behind them on the back and becoming engaged in a violent lip-lock. 

The others move towards Cora and Lydia. With lightning speed, Lydia laces her fingers through Cora’s and swings their joined hands slightly – to ensure Stiles takes note, she assumes.

“Hi guys!” Scott says brightly once they’ve approached, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back and forth slightly. Cora rolls her eyes at his jubilance, but she does feel slightly more comfortable now that he’s here. An alpha’s presence has that effect. Meanwhile, Stiles is eyeing them, looking incredulous.

“So this is really happening,” he says. It doesn’t sound like a question, but Cora can’t really tell.  
Lydia beams and steps slightly closer to her. Allison’s eyebrows fly almost to her hairline. “Yes, it is. Just like I told you, Stiles.”

“Why didn’t you tell _me_?” Allison asks, voice hushed. Cora feels very much the outsider. Everyone’s eyes are focused on Lydia as they try to find a way to convey to her how Very Wrong Cora is for her, without saying so explicitly. Cora knows the drill. She knows what she looks like to all of them, what all the Hales must look like.

Scott meets her darting gaze after several moments, and he nods slightly at her. Inexplicably, warmth spreads through Cora’s veins. The look Scott gives her is so knowing and so kind, full of that trademark sunshine everyone flocks to him for. She guesses she can kind of see why they – Isaac, Allison, Stiles, even Derek at times – always have hearts in their eyes when they look at him. She nods back, and he smiles.

Lydia tugs on her hand slightly, and she turns to her. The others watch as the redhead brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Cora’s forehead. Cora tries very hard not to tremble.

“Want me to get you something to drink?” she asks. 

“I can’t even get drunk, Lydia, remember?”

Lydia rolls her eyes, and Cora almost laughs, because it’s clear she’s rubbing off on her. “Just let me get you a drink, Cora. Okay? Great.”

Before she can protest, Lydia is flouncing away, hips swaying with each pulse of her legs. Cora jerks her gaze away quickly, guiltily. When she turns back, Scott, Isaac, and Stiles have disappeared, and Allison is staring at her evenly.

“Can we talk?” the Argent girl asks, gesturing for Cora to follow her into Danny’s dining room (slightly more empty than the others). Cora nods, and the two of them duck through the door like they’re part of some secret mission. They stand on opposite sides of a mahogany buffet, and Allison simply looks at her for several moments, the throbbing vibrations of the music drowning out Cora’s thoughts.

“This is kind of a cliché, isn’t it?” Allison finally says, looking like she’s not sure whether or not she’s allowed to laugh. “The best friend giving the whole ‘If you hurt her, I’ll break your nose’ speech?”

Cora half-smiles, somehow relieved at the direction this conversation is headed. “Considering what your family does as a profession, I’m going to take your threat more seriously than I ordinarily would.”

“Wise move. Anyway…” Allison raises her chin slightly – Cora’s noticed that she does that more frequently these days. It makes her look like a general leading an army into battle. Cora’s sketched her that way before – hair flying, eyes blazing, never flinching. She likes this Allison. She just doesn’t want to think about what happened that made her this way. “I know Lydia can handle herself just fine. I’m protective, but not _that_ protective. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Knew what?” Cora blinks, confused. Allison leans forward and drums her fingers on the wood slightly.

“That I would do anything for her,” she replies. “That I want her to be happy, and if being with you makes her happy – and anyone with a pulse can see that it does – then I’ll leave it be.” 

Cora flinches slightly. This is all feeling too concrete to her suddenly – Allison giving her approval, Scott’s smiles, Stiles’s half-jealous, half-sarcastic comments. If this goes on much longer – alcohol or no alcohol, she’s going to forget that all of this is just an act. Because there’s no denying it anymore, not even to herself – she’d give anything to make this real. 

“Are you talking about me?” 

Cora turns to see the girl in question strutting into the room – there’s no other way to describe the way Lydia Martin takes charge of her surroundings, utterly and completely. The redhead is holding three colored shots, balancing two between her fingers and handing one – the ridiculously bright blue one – off to Cora now. She gives Allison a pink one, winking, and saves the yellow glass for herself.

“Bottoms up,” she says, standing so close to Cora that the Hale girl can feel her breath on the side of her neck.

Allison looks at the tiny glass dubiously. “What’s in this, exactly?”

Lydia shrugs. “Something that’s made even Scott a little…loup-y.” She smirks at her own joke. Allison just raises her eyebrows. “Oh, _relax_ , it’s Skittles vodka. Loosen up, Argent – we’re partying with _wolves_ now.” 

Allison just laughs, glancing over at Cora. Almost simultaneously, the three girls lift the drinks to their lips. Cora tilts her head back and downs it in one gulp. The back of her throat burns and her brain fizzes for one brief moment, before she can feel her buzz pop like a bubble. She sighs inwardly. For once, just once, she’d like to be able to experience life like a human would, wholly and completely. Then again, even the humans in Beacon Hills have more on their plates than she thinks she could handle.

She watches as Lydia purses her lips and shakes her head, a grin falling unbidden on her lips. 

“Let’s dance,” she says in Cora’s direction, eyelids at half-mast. Her hair is shining impossibly brightly from the strobe light remains that creep into the room, and Cora is practically entranced. 

“Okay,” she almost gulps, and Lydia grabs her hand and pulls her into a crowded room with writhing bodies through the doorway in front of them. Cora looks back once, quickly, and sees Allison smirking and disappearing into the front hall again. Cora thinks she can spot Isaac hulking in the shadows, and she has to choke back a laugh, because _seriously_ , what is happening with those two. 

“I meant it, you know,” Lydia whispers into Cora’s neck, still leading her past crowds, towards the center of the large floor. All the furniture’s been taken out or pushed away, and Cora can see everyone dancing so drunkenly, so uninhibited, that she can barely tell where one body begins and the other ends. The music is practically a tangible concept; it’s so present in the house.

“Meant what?”

Lydia pulls Cora closer to her. The thump of the blaring song’s bass line creeps into Cora’s blood. “You look hot tonight. And...hmm...and always.”

Cora chuckles, almost nervously. “You’re already drunk, aren’t you?”

Lydia laughs too loudly and begins to move against Cora’s body. The other girl shudders, trying very hard to be detached, to emulate Derek and Peter and every werewolf she’s always sort of hated, despite everything. 

“Not drunk,” the redhead smiles smugly, eyelids falling practically shut as she tugs on Cora’s waist. “Just very… _alive_.”

Cora can barely open her mouth to form a response before Lydia’s mouth is on hers, every corner of her body pressed into Cora’s like the Hale girl is some kind of buoy in a storm. 

_Breathe, breathe, breathe_ , Cora reminds herself as the dance of their lips becomes less warlike and gentler, because even breathing is near-impossible with Lydia around. Cora doesn’t let herself dissolve into this kiss, though, not like last time. The only thought running through her head is how right this feels, and how wrong that is. 

She pulls away abruptly, pulling Lydia’s hands away from her sides. 

“Stiles isn’t around,” Cora says hoarsely, trying and failing to meet the brown-green eyes that stare at her, confused. 

Lydia lets out a breath that sounds more like a huff and steps towards Cora once more. The height difference between them has never been more evident than it is now, and Cora wonders how she can feel so powerless in this girl’s presence when she towers over her. 

“Fuck Stiles,” Lydia breathes, lacing their fingers together firmly. She uses a lock of Cora’s hair to bring their faces together, making the other girl tremble. “Just kiss me.”

So Cora does.

Their mouths sync together almost perfectly, Lydia’s gloss providing a kind of traction that Cora never knew she’d want, never knew she’d crave. Cora knows she won’t ever feel this way again, this intense, all-consuming _fire_. Lydia parts the other girl’s lips with her tongue, exploring, memorizing, probably analyzing Cora’s mouth like some kind of science project.

 _Fuck_ , why does that turn Cora on so much?

She yanks on Lydia’s shirt with her free hand to pull her closer, closer, always closer. They’re practically grappling now, all pretenses forgotten. Lydia begins to back into a corner and pulls Cora along with her, and suddenly they’re right where they started at the beginning of the night, one girl against the wall, the other fighting to keep her there. 

Cora doesn’t know how much more of this she can take.

“No – no, Lydia, no,” she mutters, tearing away from the other girl, knowing she’s going to regret this later but she just _can’t_ anymore, she can’t do it. “You don’t – you don’t know what you’re doing; you have to stop.”

Lydia raises her eyebrows. It’s a challenge. “Why?”

Cora scowls. “This is all _fake_ , Lydia! Fake! And then you start kissing me when no one’s watching – God knows where Stiles is, he’s sure as fuck not that interested in what we’re doing.” She knows she’s blabbering now, but she can’t seem to stop. “And you never even told _Allison_ it wasn't real, and Danny’s saying he knew this would happen and _Christ_ , I know you like playing games but I get enough of that at home.” 

“I – no, Cora, shut up, you don’t – ”

“Don’t know what I’m talking about?” Cora curses the tears that begin to well up in her heavily made-up eyes. “It seems like that’s what everyone always thinks. Fuck this, Lydia. You may think the world is your chess board, but I’m not a pawn, and I’m done fighting for the goddamn queen.” 

With that, she stumbles back, ignoring whatever Lydia’s screaming into the dark. Cora pushes aside everyone in her way, including a confused Scott who passes by on her left. She knows that he can sense her hurt and anger, her fury and her helplessness. Alphas don’t always have that ability to read people, but Scott’s no ordinary alpha. He’s also a really fucking good person, so he lets her past even though he could have stopped her, and she can sense him shaking his head as she elbows her way through the foyer. 

Not for the first time, she wishes she weren’t a Hale, wishes it weren’t her family’s constant to deny help. 

Once she’s outside, she begins to run. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the woods and all she can feel is her fur coat and her fangs sinking into her lips.

***

When she wakes up, the world is green.

That’s how it seems at first, anyway. The trees in the forest blend together before her eyes, and all other colors – the brown of the dirt, the black of her nails, the cream of her skin – fade away. 

Until she sees flaming red hair. 

Cora straightens up, realizing too late that her own hair is wild, that her shirt is shredded, that she’s been sleeping on the dirt ground for god knows how long. 

“Hi,” Lydia says softly, daintily shifting her skirt and sitting next to Cora. The Hale girl realizes that she’s still wearing the same outfit that she was last night, and the sun is rising in the sky now, which means – 

“Have you been looking for me…all this time?” she asks, voice sounding cracked and diluted from sleep.

Lydia raises her eyes to the sky briefly, as if asking for the strength to deal with such idiocy. “Duh. _Duh_ , Cora, what was I supposed to do? You left me on the dance floor – half-deranged, might I add – and Scott said he saw you leaving. He was worried you’d get into trouble, that the change might…overwhelm you somehow. So he helped me track you here.”

Cora blinks, very pointedly not meeting Lydia’s gaze. “And you?”

“What?”

“Were you worried, too?” 

There’s a prolonged pause, and Cora chances a glance at the other girl. Lydia’s teeth are pressing into her lips, but she doesn’t look away. “Of course I was.”

Cora lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You don’t even like me.”

Lydia laughs, and Cora notices for the first time the dark, almost purple circles under her eyes, the way her eyeliner has smeared. “Jesus, Cora. You really are an idiot.” 

She shifts closer, and Cora doesn’t allow the hope she feels in her stomach to bubble over, because that’s how she got hurt before. She doesn’t want to get hurt again.

“Why do you think – ” Lydia’s dragging each syllable out, making it clear that she intends to be understood perfectly, “ – I asked _you_ to fake-date me?”

Cora gulps. “Because of the shock factor?”

The other girl practically growls. “Because I _like you_.”

Cora’s pretty sure her heart stops.

Lydia continues, “It may have been subconscious at first, maybe some sort of secret rebellion. Or at least that’s what I told myself, if I ever acknowledged it at all. But after we talked in the library…I knew I wanted it to be real, Stiles or no Stiles.”

“But.” Cora can’t breathe, she absolutely cannot breathe. The world has to be coming to an end; a new supernatural threat must have arrived in Beacon Hills with the power of making her darkest desires come true; this _must_ be some kind of trap. And yet. If it’s all a trick, it’d be the cruelest one anyone’s ever played, and she grew up with Peter Hale. And Lydia isn’t cruel. Lydia isn’t Peter.

Cora isn’t used to happiness, but she figures she might as well take a chance on it.

“So I guess that begs the question,” Lydia’s saying now. “How do you feel about _me_?” She quirks an eyebrow, watching, waiting. And there’s really only one thing left to do.

Cora leans in and kisses her, desperately, with everything she has, everything she knows. Nothing else exists, and nothing else matters. Just Lydia. Just this. Just them.

The forest is still very green, but all Cora can see is red.

***

ONE WEEK LATER

“These are beautiful, Cora.”

Cora smiles, leaning back onto Lydia’s pillows as she watches the redhead flip through her sketchbook, most of her anxiety ebbing away. Smiling’s gotten easier for her lately. It’s become almost a habit.  
“Really?”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Yes, really. I wouldn’t lie to you. They’re amazing, and you’re incredibly talented.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m not.” Lydia smiles as she crosses her legs and sets the drawings down, leaning against Cora slightly. “Nothing about you surprises me anymore. And I always knew you were special.” 

Cora doesn’t even scowl when her heart begins to thud erratically. She’s used to it. “Yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Lydia turns her head slightly and begins to nuzzle into Cora’s neck. “That one drawing, the one of my lips?” Cora can feel her smirk against her skin. “Let’s see if life imitates art.”

***

Cora Hale is many things, but happy has never been one of them.

She’s never allowed herself a chance to get close to anyone, to depend on anyone, to need anyone. She’s always grown up believing herself to be entirely on her own, and for a good long while, that had been the truth. Other people – they just didn’t fit into the picture.

But things are different now.

If you go to Beacon Hills High, you’ll see a redhead and a laughing brunette, almost always holding hands. People will tell you that they had no idea how that happened, that they’d always assumed those two hated each other, but their friends know the truth. Their friends know that the genius girl with the impossible IQ was always going to fall for the scowling Hale with the chip on her shoulder. There was something about them, even before all of the madness began – they both were searching for something just out of reach.

They’ve found it now.

And in a world where life and death meet on the battlefield of a small California town, what more can anyone really ask for?

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://grantaired.tumblr.com)! Happy Valentine's Day!


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